


Meaning

by avari20



Series: The Punch about to Land [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre Relationship, meet cute, the beginning of it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:38:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avari20/pseuds/avari20
Summary: How did Darcy Marie Lewis meet Steven Grant Rogers? It started with throwing a rock at his face.You'd think Captain McBackFlipWatchThisGuys would have faster reflexes.Anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been absolutely friggin' AGES since I've written anything, so I'm nervous about adding to the series. Let me know what you think!
> 
> credit to clonemaster-general on tumblr for the prompt.

This is the story of how Darcy Marie Lewis met Steven Grant Rogers. It started with throwing a rock at his face.

 

It should be noted that this was a complete and total accident. Like, she didn’t mean to bean him in the eye that way–but in her defense, you’d think that Captain McBackflipWatchThisGuys would have slightly faster reflexes.

 

Then again, rocks probably weren’t the weapon of choice for the average bad guy.

 

Anyway.

 

The rock.

 

It looked like any other rock, but it was most definitely not your average gray hunk of material. It had Meaning. Darcy had carried it to college, to New Mexico, to London, to Ice Cold Hell under the guise of SHEILD custody, and finally, years later, to the lab she and Jane ended up installed in. Every experience she had was another to add to the rock’s list of Events.

 

She’d just never figured that giving Captain America a helluva shiner would be one of them.

 

It happened like this—Sort of.

 

Jane was doing her thing, holed up in a corner, working out equations. Since there weren't too many ways to die by formula, Darcy was relegated to her awesome wheelie chair, playing with the rock, thinking about the coming week.

 

She turned in her chair to face the boss lady. “What do you think of Enrique Iglesias’ butt?”

 

Jane stopped. Slowly looked up. “Did you just say Enrique Iglesias’ butt?”

 

Apparently not even Science! could compete with that hunk of glory. Or so Darcy assumed. She hadn't actually looked. “Yeah. What do you think of it?”

 

“Okay, is this your way of getting my attention now?”

 

“Please. This is serious. I need opinions.”

 

Jane put down the pencil. “About his butt?”

 

Okay, seriously. “That’s what I said.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m thinking of googling it and blowing it up into a poster.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why not? If it’s bubbly and firm, it should be immortalized, right?” Butts like that didn’t last forever, after all. Time was a cruel master.

 

Unless you were Thor.

 

Darcy perked up. Hey. There was an idea. She wheeled her chair closer. “Jane…would you say that Thor’s—”

 

“No.”

 

“But—” Oh, did that count as a pun?

 

“Nope.”

 

“Come on! I need _something_ to take with me. I can’t just show up at Great Nana’s birthday party empty handed. She’d yell at me from the grave.” She would, too. “I just need one up close picture of a firm ass. It’s not a lot to ask.”

 

Understanding dawned on Jane. “Oh. Great Nana? That’s different.” She sat back. “You still can’t have Thor.”

 

“That’s cruel. I’m not saying I’ve looked or anything. I’m just saying it’s cruel.” She’d totally looked.

 

Jane quirked a brow. “Get another butt.”

 

She sagged back in the chair. It was extra cushioned, just the right thing for dramatics. “Fine. Be that way. Leave me present-less.” It was probably against some moral code to exploit Enrique’s assets, anyway. Objectification. Not cool. But what other option was left?

 

“If you asked Stark, he probably wouldn’t charge you.”

 

She sat up straight. “Are you trying to get me _killed_?” Because Pepper Potts would _definitely_ have something to say about that. “No go.”

 

“Okay. How about the arrow guy?”

 

“Clint Barton?” That would—no. Nevermind. Too many possibilities for weirdness. She sighed.

 

But then Jane got this look. A Science! look. A look that said they were going to drive into a creepy storm in the middle of a desert right now. “You know there’s someone else you could ask.”

 

She doubted it, because she’d thought of everyone. Except for—“No.”

 

Jane sat back and crossed her arms over her stained T-shirt, looking like that cat that got the canary. “Yes,” she insisted. “You know, I can see why you love coming up with stuff like this. It's a pretty nice feeling.”

 

That was—not the point.

 

“You know you want to,” Jane continued. “Great Nana would have _loved_ it.”

 

“No.” Darcy had flexible moral boundaries, but they were still boundaries. Unless—no. Absolutely not.

 

Unless…

 

“You’re thinking about it.”

 

Duh. “I’m a redblooded woman interested in men.” It _would_ be kind of poetic. Jane was right—Great Nana would have been over the moon.

 

She glanced down at the rock, suddenly feeling a little over her head, and that was saying something. “It won't work,” she said. “He's not even in the Avenger's Tower anymore. Or on base. Whatever they consider the cool clubhouse these days.”

 

“Oh ho,” Jane piped up, sounding a lot like an old woman at the opera.

 

No way. “No way,” she repeated out loud.

 

“Yes way.”

 

“How come you know that and I don't? You ate a Pop Tart with the wrapper on yesterday.”

 

“I have my ways,” Jane preened. “And I did not.” She sat forward. “Do it for Great Nana. If you don't, I will.”

 

Darcy gaped. “Oh, no you don't. You are not stealing my thunder at the bash.”

 

“I absolutely, one hundred percent am. I miss Great Nana's cookies.” She even looked a little sad when she said it.

 

Well, why wouldn't she? Great Nana's cookies were awesome. Still, Darcy would not have her arm twisted. “I'll tell Thor.”

 

“I'll tell him it was for Great Nana,” Jane countered.

 

Damn. Thor only got to eat the cookies once, but he'd almost written a saga to Great Nana's baking skills, making Jane's plot pretty genius.

  
Respect.

 

Alright, she was not going to win this. The only option left was to take what she'd been given and run with it.

 

So...how to get Captain America to pose for a sexy back shot?

 

She contemplated the rock, holding it up to the light. If she turned it just right, the artificial glow would trace the numbers written on the back in pencil, using a script nobody utilized anymore.

 

Snapping and running was not an option. See aforementioned morals about objectification.

 

Great Nana had never once backed down from something she'd wanted. She'd grabbed life by the horns, wrestling adversity to the ground. “ _If you want something, go and get it_ ,” she'd told Darcy once. Then her eyes would get far away. “ _You never know when the chance will get snatched away from you._ ”

 

Darcy's jaw firmed. Well, that decided that.

 

Sorry, Enrique.

 

*****

 

Darcy liked to think that she was pretty good at plotting. She had a few pranks on her resume, especially during college. Adding in her rather stellar hacking skills and penchant for vengeance, Darcy wasn't someone people should mess with.

 

This time, though, she'd decided to take the up and up route and just come clean with the American Way.

 

Or she would have been, if she'd been able to find him.

 

Seriously, for a guy that noticeable, he could hide when he wanted to.

 

And he was definitely hiding. Darcy skulked through half the Tower before she started to wonder exactly who he was hiding from. Surely not her. He didn't even know she existed. So who?

 

JARVIS was _not_ helpful. Privacy protocols.

  
Which got Darcy to thinking. Why were there protocols hiding the physical footprints of one Steven Grant Rogers? Guy was not afraid of anything. She'd seen the Youtube videos.

 

But was he in fact afraid of someone?

 

Only one person fit that description.

 

The Black Widow.

 

Darcy knew her limits. No way was she going to out maneuver Natasha Romanoff. No way was she even going to try. She was just going to sit back and watch whatever she chose to do with her thighs and--

 

Ahem. Anyway, she deemed the mission a failure. For that day, at least. Tomorrow, though, would be a different story.

 

Except it wasn't. It was the same story—Captain America was as good as a ghost. Oh, there were traces of him everywhere: the shield in the corner, the massive bowl that had once held popcorn on the kitchen table. He'd done some pretty amazing work to the pizza somebody had ordered, too. Man could eat.

 

Well, that made sense. He had to get fuel from somewhere.

 

The third day, Darcy was getting frustrated. She'd even started carrying the rock around just in case, convinced that if she did manage to meet him and left to go get it, he'd slip through her fingers again.

 

But he didn't. Not one golden hair on that beautiful head showed up. What were these people infused with? Ninja blending senses?

 

Darcy was so irritated (seriously, Jane gloating? Not pretty. Or welcome) that she actually decided to go to the gym. Like, really. Resorting to a treadmill. She had been pushed that far.

 

Don't get her wrong, it was kind of cool. The cardio area was up above everything else, away from the mats where all the danger went down. She had a really cool view of the city while she sweat her boobs off.

 

So she was minding her own business, regretting every second she'd spent inputting “Hills” as a terrain option, the rock situated on the treadmill's handy book-holder thing (she didn't know if there was a word for it), when the door opened.

 

She hated training in front of other people almost as much as she hated training, so she reached for her towel--

 

Only to hit the rock. THE rock.

 

Which hit the belt.

 

Which accelerated the rock approximately four point eight million miles an hour—right into Captain America's face.

 

Only Darcy didn't know that because she'd tried to dive for the rock at the same time it fell. She missed and went down with the ship.

  
Falling on a treadmill? HURTS.

 

“Miss, are you al--”

 

Darcy popped up from the floor. “Where is it? Oh my god, I'm dead. I'm so dead.” Heart in her throat, she scrambled to the edge of the platform and looked down. “Did you see where it went?”

 

The Blond Who Carried American War Films tried to reach for her, his brow swelling. “A fall like that could cause serious damage. I think we'd better check--”

 

She knocked the hand away. “If you want to make sure I'm okay, please find the rock.” Oh god, what if it broke? What would she do?

 

Tears welled up. She'd never forgive herself, that's what. How could she have just put it on the machine like that?

 

Steve Rogers froze, eyes widening. “Miss, I--” He cut himself off. Blood dripped down from where his eyebrow had busted. “I'll be right back.”

 

Darcy nodded because she didn't know what else to do. Part of her wanted to jump down and search every square inch of that mat herself, while the other part couldn't help but think, He'll make it all okay.

 

Never mind Thor's flying. The real superpower in this tower was the ability to cut through the panic with a calm voice.

 

Darcy turned to watch him jump down lightly and go out a couple of steps. He reached down for something—and picked up her rock, she realized. Relief threatened to overwhelm her. She reached out with grabby hands. “Is it okay? Did it break?” Was Captain America's face hard enough to shatter stone?

 

His gaze darted to her shaking fingers. He didn't waste a single second getting back to her, handing over the rock without a word.

 

Darcy ran her hands over it. The edges felt the same. No jagged cracks. She flipped it over. The number was complete.

 

It hadn't been destroyed.

 

Darcy squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, thank god.”

 

“Miss?” he asked gently.

 

She sniffed. “I'm sorry, I'm—Oh my god, your eye.” She sniffed again. “I didn't mean to...”

 

“No need to worry about me; it'll heal up in a couple of minutes.”

 

“Are you kidding me? You're bleeding.”

 

He touched the cut with hesitant fingers. “Nothing to cry over.”

 

For some reason she would never understand, that opened up the flood gate. From one second to the next, Darcy found herself in an aching, snorting, red-faced mess on the floor, crying because she'd almost broken a family heirloom on Captain America's face.

 

His face crumpled. “I, uh.” He patted his sweatpants almost frantically, looking up at her in alarm. “I don't have a handkerchief.”

 

He just sounded so alarmed. Darcy barked out a watery laugh before she could stop herself. “That's alright. I'm sorry. I'll be okay.” She swiped at her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

 

He didn't look convinced. “Ma'am, we should get you to medical. Have the doc make sure nothing's wrong.”

 

Did he think she'd hit her head? Well, maybe. “I'm just relieved.” she admitted between gasps for breath. “I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I ever broke this.”

 

Now he blinked, confused. It got some of the blood in his eye.

 

What was she doing, just sitting here while he bled? Darcy shoved her hair out of the way and reached for her fallen towel. “Let me take care of that.”

 

“You don't--”

 

“Please.” She met his gaze. “Please let me do this.”

 

For a second she didn't think he'd relent. He was busy searching her face like he was looking for answers. It was hard not to notice how pretty he was, even in a traumatic moment like this one, but it was a good kind of pretty. Comforting.

 

 _Calm down._ “I'm a good nurse, I swear. I handle Jane all the time.”

 

He let her pull him close, even though she was actually almost lying on the floor at this point. “You're Foster's assistant?”

 

She pressed the towel to his head. “Apply pressure.” It felt good to give orders. Like she was in control. That illusion went a long way to calming her nerves. Letting her pretend she wasn't sweaty and blotched from crying.

 

Life really knew how to throw her curve balls.

 

His hand covered hers. It was huge.

 

She gently tugged away. “So I guess the serum didn't make you indestructible,” she joked weakly. “Lucky me.”

 

He said nothing, but the corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smile. “I gotta work on that part myself.”

 

She nodded. What else was she supposed to do?

 

The silence went on, drawing out. “I'm Darcy,” she said at last.

 

“Steve Rogers.” And then he held up his free hand for her to shake.

 

Darcy felt herself smile for no reason at all. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”

 

“Pleasure's mine.”

 

She searched his face. It was a good face, the kind that you wanted to trust. “It's my Great Nana's rock,” she told him quietly. “She picked it up the day her camp was liberated by the Allies.”

 

Her hand crept out all on its own, clamping down on the rock with a white knuckled grip.

 

She swallowed. “Weird, right? You'd think that she wouldn't want a single piece of that horrible place. But she did. Took it all the way with her to America, and then Canada, and everywhere else. She loved to travel,” she added shakily.

 

  
Steve watched her the same way people watched funerals, gaze full of understanding, but not coming close. Just...waiting, in case he was needed.

 

“She gave it to my nana, and then my mom, and then me, and...She'd be really upset if she knew I'd nearly killed you with it. She had all your memorabilia,” she finished with a wail. “Even though we all knew that she really had a thing for Dum Dum.”

 

He stepped closer. “Miss Darcy--”

 

“Darcy.”

 

He nodded once. Gazing into his eyes, she was suddenly struck by the color of them. Bright and clear, more so now that she had the red of blood to contrast them against. “Darcy.”

 

She swallowed. “I'm going to be okay. I promise.” It felt important to add that.

 

He didn't waver. “Are you sure?”

 

Darcy jerked her chin. “I think—I should probably get off of the floor.”

 

Big hands came out, not touching, but close enough to still her. His cut was half healed already. “I can't let you walk just yet, ma'am. You may have really injured something.”

 

“I think I'd know.”

 

“Are you a licensed medical professional?” The question was brisk and curt. He barely waited for her answer. “I'd really feel better if someone checked you over.”

 

Pulling the _“I'd feel better”_ card? Only her mother was allowed to do that.

 

Still, Darcy hesitated just a second too long.

 

“Do I have your permission to carry you?” he asked.

 

O-kay, decision made. “Go for it.” She grabbed her rock. “I'm not missing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” Great Nana would be clapping in approval.

 

She thought she saw his lip twitch, but she couldn't be sure. He lifted her as easy as a pillow, her feet dangling over the ends of his arms. Like, really. So this was what it was like to be princess carried? Sign her up. Especially if Prince Charming looked like him.

 

The rest of the day went by in a painful blur. Steve carried her all the way to medical, in front of a god (Thor) and everybody. The most Darcy walked away from that incident with was a valid excuse not to exercise ever again. Steve's cut was healed by the time the doctor pronounced her fine.

 

How she learned Captain America would literally arm wrestle a thunder god for sweets? She baked him a batch of Great Nana's cookies in thanks.

 

So that was how Darcy Marie Lewis met Steven Grant Rogers.

 

And everything started with a rock.

 

 


End file.
